[Everyone’s got a morning after story (though most don’t involve a large group of potential sorority sisters) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]
So one time I hooked up with a freshman. And I liked it. But I knew (or thought) it would be a one time thing. Kind of like drinking a Venti before rush-hour was a one-time thing. Or shamelessly Googling pictures of Zac Efron. Or drinking margaritas on a Monday morning.
Yeah. Oops, I did it again.
Only this time he’s a sophomore…
And I’m about 4 months past graduation.
You’d think I would have figured these things out by now (that I’m probably too old to be prancing around the local college dive bar scoping out the sophomore scene), but I was too ignorant and curious.
He was just so sweet when I saw him. He danced with me to my favorite Rihanna songs, bought me a Bud Light, held my hand while we stood up against the bar and made out. His lips were just so soft and luscious. Besides, I have been living at home for the past three months and hadn’t “gone all out” in way too long. Like Fabolous would always say, this was my time.
Somehow, I lost him after bar close. I was so deeply saddened, I took it upon myself to get in a taxi with some of his guy friends and go with them to their house in hopes of finding my freshman (now sophomore) there. He wasn’t. So I shamelessly texted him to find out where on earth he was. (So much for playing hard to get.) My sophomore texted me his address and before you could say ‘bad decision’ I was in a taxi (the passenger seat, mind you) cruising to the safety of my knight in shining (under)armor.
When I arrived at his house, I called him and he didn’t answer. I had to pee. For some reason, I thought it was a good idea to take a tinkle in his bushes on the side of his house. When in college Rome, right? Anyways, once I’d finished my business (and took some extra time to drip dry) I called him again. He said he was at another girl’s house and wouldn’t be back for an hour. I pouted, possibly started tearing up. He said just kidding and let me in. I laughed and slapped his chest. Oh em gee, he was so cute and playful!
When I was inside, he showed me his puppy. I melted into a puddle and we started madly making out in his living room. His game was just so good! I had no recollection of any of his roommates getting ready to turn in upstairs, his whining dog, or the naked girl posters on the wall.
“Where’s your bed?” I asked him as we started to fall onto the futon.
“It’s right here, sweetheart.” He pointed to the futon.
Apparently he was one roommate too many and having him live there had violated some fire code, therefore he couldn’t “have a bedroom legally.” Meaning, we’d be doin’ our thing in the communal living room. Awesome.
Not that I let that bother me. On the contrary, I was excited about the thrill of it all.
We made out and fooled around for a large chunk of time. I’m serious, the last time I looked at the clock it was 6:30 AM and I could see a pile of Busch Light on the coffee table in a small sliver of sunlight. After ignoring the phone calls from my friend (who was still at the other guys’ house, locked in a guy’s bedroom and without keys…that’s another story) and going to the bathroom (in only a sweatshirt and skins), I fell asleep, spooning with my sweaty sophomore lover.
I woke up three hours later. I had ten missed calls from my wingwoman who was an hour late for work and super pissed because I was the one who had her keys all along. (I bought her a Starbucks later and she instantly forgave me after hearing about my night). But she was the least of my problems, because it wasn’t until waking up in the broad daylight (with a mind not altered by copious amounts of alcohol) that I realized the college nightmare I was in.
After rubbing crusties out of my eyes (carefully so as not to smear my makeup), I sat up and attempted to identify my clothing strewn all over the floor. At the same moment, my sophomore promptly flatulated on my thigh before nearly pushing me off the futon in his sleep. If that wasn’t bad enough, within my hazy vision I spotted laptops, empty Smirnoff bottles, racy Hooters posters, and a very dirty beer pong table. Oh and, OMG, was that another girl’s thong?! I squeezed my eyes shut and threw myself under the covers as one of his roommates got up for class, then shot up from the futon (why does my body hurt so much?!), nudged the Sophomore and made him drive me home.
I do not regret my romp. I had fun, and I am strong enough to say I’ve gotten over the minor age gap in our relationship. But, I do regret the three days after…
I was so sore, I had to re-apply Icy Hot all over my hips, thighs, and shoulders every couple hours. I couldn’t sit on the toilet, go up the stairs, or properly maneuver myself into bed to nurse my wounds. I had bruises in mysterious places, scrapes on my hands (I’m assuming that was from my 2AM pee sesh in the alley) and two large hickeys on my neck. To top it off, after staying up into the wee hours of the night, I inherited a mean cold due to lack of proper sleep.
It was ridiculous. I never knew dry humping could be so lethal. I’m too old for this sh*t.
[You think that’s bad? Check out our other cringe-worthy Morning After stories.]